


Designated Driver

by CieraDarlene



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, He also doesn't like to worry his friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In which Richie Tozier lacks communication skills and harbours feelings, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CieraDarlene/pseuds/CieraDarlene
Summary: Richie Tozier does not drink but refuses to tell his friends, so he covers it up by only ever being the designated driver.





	Designated Driver

**Author's Note:**

> I figured Richie would have an aversion to alcohol.

Richie Tozier drove a blue 1968 Chevy truck. This was the Losers' main mode of transportation to any party-like event, as he was the only one with a vehicle. At least 3 of them would cram into the bench style seat, while the rest would sit in the box of the truck. Richie always drove to the parties, which meant he didn't drink. For a while, no one really thought much of it. It was his truck, after all. 

Eventually Ben began to feel bad about the fact that Richie couldn't have fun at the parties like the rest of them. Well, it's not like he didn't have fun, it's Richie, he makes anything fun. Near the end of the night, though, Richie usually was left with the responsibility of dragging a bunch of drunk 16 and 17-year-olds out to his car. He insisted he really didn't mind.

In Richie's head, this was really a non-issue. Richie didn't drink. He didn't want to, though he'd never outwardly confess to that. He wasn't into having to explain that he has a crippling fear of alcohol after growing up with an alcoholic mother. So, he volunteered as the designated driver every time his friends wanted to drink.

So naturally, when Bill sits down for lunch with Stan, Eddie, Richie, Ben and Beverly and brings up some party, Richie immediately volunteers to drive. 

"Rich, y-you always d-d-drive," Bill says. "I have m-my license, I can p-probably convince m-my mom to l-l-lend me the v-v-van." He suggests.

Beverly nods in agreement. "Yea, Richie, I've never gotten to out drink you, c'mon. It'd be fun." She says, nudging Richie in the side. 

Richie shakes his head, raising a hand. "Please, Ringwald, you know I could drink circles around you." He says, his voice not faltering, despite it being a blatant lie. "No need to embarrass yourself. Besides, Bill, I already have my own car, it's just easier." He shrugs, hoping it'll suffice and everyone will drop the ordeal.

"Just let him drive, Bill, he's loud enough sober." Stan deadpans as he pokes at the cafeteria food.

Eddie quickly nods. "I'm with Stan."

"We just feel bad, Richie. You never get to have fun because you're always babysitting us." Ben says.

Richie laughs. "I get free party food and I get to watch you lot act like buffoons. Dinner and a show." He shrugs. 

"Trail mix does not count as dinner, Trashmouth." Eddie points out.

"You're right, Eds, that's why I take you home last, so I can follow you inside and eat your mo-"

"Beep beep, Richie." Eddie snaps, elbowing his friend in the ribs. 

Richie chuckles and pushes his hair out of his face. "Really, guys, just let me drive, it's fine. You've never heard me complain before."

And so when Friday rolls around, the Losers all pile into Richie Tozier's blue Chevy truck. Eddie's the only one who sits in the cabin of the truck with Richie. The rest of them all pile into the back. 

Eddie was always intuitive. He could tell there was something weird going on. Richie has always played himself as the party type. He seems like the exact type who'd revel in a party, drinking PBR until he can't put any phonetics behind his own name. The first time Richie offered to drive, he thought nothing of it. He'd just bought his first car after saving since he was 15. He wanted to drive. It made sense. But then it was 2 parties, then it was 5. Then 10. No one else thought anything of it; Except Eddie.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but then it occurred to him he had no real idea what he even wanted to say.

"What's'a matter, Eds? Cat got your tongue?" Richie breaks the silence.

"Don't call me that." Eddie snaps. "And no, I just - I was thinking."

"I was wondering what that sound was." Richie teases.

"Shut up, Trashmouth."

"Alright, alright. What'r you thinkin about?" Richie sighs.

Eddie mulls it over in his head. "Why do you always drive us to parties?" He asks.

Richie laughs. "I'm the only one with a vehicle?" He points out.

"Well, yeah, but Bill offered to drive on Tuesday and you turned him down. That one time, Mike said he could take his Grandpa's truck and you still insisted on driving. Don't you feel like you're missing out, or something?" Eddie instinctively presses closer to Richie.

Just then, Richie pulls up to the party. The rest of the gang barrel out of the box of the truck and walk up the front lawn. Eddie remains. 

"C'mon, Eds. I'm never missing out. You think your ol' pal Richie needs booze to have fun?" He says. He reaches over and ruffles Eddie's hair. 

Eddie recoils immediately, smacking Richie's hand away. 

"Let's go join the fun, shall we, my good sir?" Richie says, putting on his boisterous British accent as he opens his door. 

Sighing, Eddie drops the ordeal. But he knows there's something going on. 

Over the course of the evening, Richie doesn't move much. He sits in the living room, a bowl of pretzels sat in his lap. In the room over, Beverly is dominating in beer pong. Bill and Stan both cheer her on. Richie's lost sight of Eddie and Ben. He'll have to find them later. Thankfully he has Mike who often helps ring up their band of drunken losers. Mike doesn't drink very much. He hates the taste of beer, he tells everyone. Maybe Richie should write that excuse down for later. 

He no longer needs to find Eddie as the small boy saunters into the living room and flops, face first, into the couch. He groans loudly. Richie raises an eyebrow. Knowing Eddie, he's probably only had 2 ciders and maybe a shot of hard liquor. 

"Enjoying yourself, Eddie Spaghetti?" He asks. 

Eddie rolls to lie on his back so he can look at Richie. "Din't I tell you not to call me that?" Eddie glares.

A soft buzzy blush sits on Eddie's cheeks, across his nose. His eyes are glossy. God, he's such a lightweight, Richie thinks to himself. 

"Rich," Eddie sighs loudly.

"Yes, Eddie."

"Are you scared of drinking?" Eddie asks.

Richie's breathing hitches in his throat. "What would give you that idea?" He asks, the words coming out a lot shakier than he'd have liked. 

Eddie sits up, crossing his legs and leaning into the couch. "Well," He says, and takes a deep breath. "I don't know. It makes sense. I mean with your mom and all-"

Richie inhales sharply and quickly cuts Eddie off. "Eddie, you know what, you're drunk. Maybe I should just take you home." He says.

Eddie's brows knit together. He figured it out. "Rich, I -"

"Come on." Richie says. He's standing now, looming over Eddie. He's trying to coax Eddie up, but he does want to move. 

"No, I'm fine, I haven't had that much -" Which is a mild, lie. Eddie's definitely tipsy. But his head feels clearer as he feels himself uncovering the root of Richie's addiction to designated driving.

Richie huffs. "I'm going to get Mike." He mumbles, and walks off to the kitchen, leaving Eddie sat on the couch. 

It takes a bit to convince the rest of the gang to give in to going home. Richie complains that he's tired and not feeling well. Eventually, they all give in. He and Mike corral their friends into Richie's truck. Mike stations himself in the back of the truck to keep the rest of them in line, while Eddie sits in the front, much to Richie's dismay.

Eddie is silent through the ride. They drop off Beverly first and Richie walks her into her apartment. He tells her he hopes she had fun as she collapses in her bed. She mumbles a soft thanks to him. Next, he drops off Ben - who'd been asleep before they even left the party. Mike half carries Ben into his house and returns to the box. Then Richie pulls up to Stan's house. He insists he can get into his house himself. And he does. Mike stays at Bill's house. He lives too far out of town for Richie to drive him at this hour. Then it's just him and Eddie, whose drunkenness as since worn down.

Eddie wasted no time trying to pry at Richie, who's barely spoken the entire way home. 

"You're scared of drinking. I'm right, aren't I?" Eddie says. 

"Drop it, Kaspbrak." Richie retorts.

"Richie, you can talk to me, you can tell me." Eddie presses. 

Richie's voice falls to a shakey hush. "Eddie, drop it." 

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. "Richie," He whispers.

Richie pulls up to his Eddie's house. "Goodnight, Eddie."

"Richie, please," Eddie says.

It's then that Richie throws his fist into the steering wheel of his truck. "Fuck, Eddie!" He yells. Eddie jolts, startled by Richie's sudden aggression. "What do you want me to say, Eddie?" He splutters. Hot tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "You-you want me to say yes? Yes, Eddie Kaspbrak, I'm terrified of alcohol. I've been terrified since I was 9 years old and I finally understood why mommy's always asleep. Except she's not asleep, Eddie! She's blacked out drunk!" 

"Richie, I -"

"I'm terrified that I'll start and I won't stop. I'm terrified that I'll drink at a party and pass out and behind my eyelids, I'm being harshly reminded of the fact that I'm turning out just like my alcoholic mother."

Richie's crying now. He leans forward, crossing his arms over his steering wheel and buries his face in them. Eddie watches his shoulders heave. Eddie reaches out and places a timid hand on Richie's back.

"You'll never be like your mom." Eddie says, but his voice lacks conviction. He believes what he's saying. Richie's an asshole. All of his friends knew that. Richie's loud and he says things he shouldn't. He's an idiot. But his heart is pure. He cares. 

Richie Tozier drives them to parties because he wants to cover his ass, but Eddie knows deep down he also wants to protect his friends. Richie knows that anyone else in their group could look out for them just as good as he, but Richie has a habit of lacking the ability to trust others. He doesn't trust anyone else to protect them, but most of all to protect himself. It's the lack of control that scares Richie. All he's had his entire life is the ability to protect himself. It's why he installed his own lock on his bedroom door. It's why he bought a drop ladder for his bedroom window. It's why he bought this goddamn 1968 blue Chevy truck. When Richie's mom drinks herself unconscious and his father takes out his frustration on Richie by smacking him around, he can lock his door. He can throw ladder out his window. He can drive away. All Richie Tozier has is the ability to protect himself. And he'll be damned if he can't protect his best friends.

Richie leans back and flashes Eddie a broken smile. Eddie reaches out and brings Richie's head down on his shoulder. Richie's body is heavy against Eddie. 

"Sorry for flying off the handle Eds. I didn't mean to startle you." Richie sighs. He wipes his eyes. 

"No, no, it's okay," Eddie says as he pulls his hand through Richie's hair. "I'm sorry for pushing you." 

"Thanks for giving a shit." Richie says quietly.

Richie slept at Eddie's that night.


End file.
